


Fire on His Breath

by Jougetsu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dorian Joins Bull's Chargers Pre-Game, M/M, alternate first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: Bull didn't expect to encounter a lone Imperium mage in the Fereldan wilds and Dorian never intended to to become a mercenary it just worked out that way.





	Fire on His Breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> Dear Sumi,
> 
> Your letter was wonderful and it was so hard to decide what to go with, so here is Dorian joining Bull's Charger's Pre-Game with a hint of Dorian is a Dragon AU! 
> 
> Set during DA:Origins just before the quest A Village Under Siege.

Call him Ashkaari, Hissrad, or the Iron Bull, it didn’t really matter because he was still the same on the inside. More or less. Well, Bull was the one who lost the eye and wore a brace. Ashkaari’s life seemed like a dream. And he didn’t always know where Hissrad ended and Bull began. But he loved dragons and hated demons. 

Which made the scene before him something out of a fairy tale or a fever dream. 

An exquisitely formed young man asleep, his golden brown skin almost glowing in the dawn light, naked and nestled in the tall grass by the brook. That alone was not an everyday sight to behold. What shot it straight into fantasy territory were the dragons. Dragonlings to be precise, three of them curled up like the stranger was a fellow hatchling. 

If Bull hadn’t been naked himself from his own bath in the stream he’d have pulled a weapon. Because this? This was something a mage or a demon would see if they were rooting around in Bull’s head searching for the headiest combination of innermost desires. 

It had to be a demon because no human could possibly end up in this situation? But Bull didn’t think a demon would craft so many little details, little imperfections. The jagged ridge of scar on the man’s hip, his light snores, the wadded up clothes he pillowed his head upon, these were too real for the slick showmanship of Sloth or Desire Demons. 

Without waking the dragonlings Bull knelt down to shake the stranger’s ankle lightly. “You all right?”

He stirred and shifted in his sleep before opening his eyes. They’re greenish-gray and soft from what Bull assumed were pleasant dreams. “Who’re you? Am I in the Fade? I can scarcely recall any handsome Qunari men last time I visited.” 

“You’re the one cuddling dragonlings,” Bull grinned despite himself. “How are you even real?” 

The other man laughed and petted the dragonlings who were waking and narrowed their eyes at Bull’s form. “Altus family secret,” he teased. “May I ask why you had the audacity to wake me before my beauty sleep was completed?”

“Looks complete enough to me,” Bull gave him an appreciative gaze. “Sleep anymore and they’ll start fighting wars over your pretty face.” 

The mage blushed, first from the compliment and then seemingly embarrassed from blushing in the first place and damn if Bull wasn’t finding it charming.

“I was bathing in the creek when I thought I heard something upstream. And I found a sleeping human surrounded by dragons, so I was a little concerned you might say,” Bull sat down and weirdly enough the bluish dragonling starting licking his hand as though the mage’s acceptance of Bull was enough to override their fighting instincts. “It’s not exactly normal. Not even in the Imperium.” 

“What can I say? I’m rather singular.” The mage sat up and Bull was almost sorry they were so close because the temptation to tumble the singular man was overwhelming. 

“And you’re not in any danger?” Bull swallowed back his desire because now was not the time to get caught up with a gorgeous stranger when there was a mission waiting for them at Redcliffe.

“Not from the dragonlings, no,” said the mage. His gaze went evasive and there was a shard of pain in his voice that hurt Bull’s heart to hear. 

“I’m the Iron Bull, I lead a group called the Bull’s Chargers. If you need protection we can give it to you,” Bull said in a rush. “Or you can join us. We can always use another member and it’s harder being a mage in Ferelden compared to the Imperium.” 

Distrust passed over the mage’s face and Bull couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t be inclined to trust a hulking, naked stranger either. “Your offer is appreciated, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline for the time being.”

“It’s a standing offer,” Bull rose to his feet. “If you get into any trouble just send word that you need the Chargers and we’ll come running.” 

He turned to let the mage dress in relative privacy, but when he turns around barely a minute later the man and the dragonlings have disappeared. If it weren’t for the flattened grass where they had lain Bull might have thought he hallucinated the encounter. 

There was no way he was writing up what happened in his report. He wasn’t even sure he should tell the Chargers because he could just hear Krem now teasing him about his Dragon Nymph Prince or something. 

*

Naturally things were going wrong for Dorian Pavus.

That was rather the trouble when you grew up as a child prodigy everything went downhill after one hit adolescence. Dorian had been fighting not to go under in Tevinter. He had thought that once he had slipped free of his father’s hold things would be easier. Well, perhaps not that easy considering he no longer had riches and social status on his side, but somewhat easier. Which is why he was bitterly regretting every choice that led up to the moment that had the villagers of Redcliffe drawing their swords. 

“A necromancer!” a burly farmer spat. “He’s in league with whoever put the curse on castle!” 

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you speak of,” Dorian lifted his chin and calculated the odds. A tavern of three dozen angry villagers, plus whatever guards were outside, plus the fact Dorian was mana drained for the day equaled utter buggery. Wonderful, just wonderful. He’d be dead before he could reach the mountain pass. 

Coming to Ferelden had been a mistake. 

“Not every mage who learns necromancy goes around putting curses on all and sundry,” he continued. Dorian knew he could be very charming when it suited him though he was not completely certain his brand of charm would work on belligerent Fereldan peasants. At the very least he could stall for time. “Besides I barely use those spells. Really, I much prefer elemental spells when I’m out and about. No messy corpses or anything unsightly. You know how fussy we from the Imperium are.” 

“Tevinter is no friend of Ferelden’s,” an elf woman growled. “So why should we believe you?” 

What had started as murmurs now crescendoed into a much louder sea of angry agreement. Did he count three dozen tavern patrons before? Because it felt like a lot more now that they had left him virtually no breathing space. Really he should’ve stayed in Orlais. But no, he had wanted to flee to where Father was least likely to look for him and outside of joining converting to the Qun and living out his days on Par Vollen Dorian had figured Ferelden would be safest. 

“There you are!” a new voice boomed in the tavern. And when Dorian looked up he thought he might burst out into hysterical laughter from nerves because the sight that greeted him was something out of a joke. 

A Qunari, a dwarf, two elves, and a soporati walk into a bar. And not just any Qunari, but the one he had met yesterday morning. If one could call nude banter in the forest a meeting.

“Ah, yes, it is I,” Dorian swallowed thickly and attempted a bright smile at the strangers. “I was wondering where you all were.” 

Never let it be said that Dorian Pavus couldn’t take a cue and run with it. 

“You know this necromancer, Bull?” the barkeep said. Dorian hoped that nasty scowl would break his face. 

“You think this little sweetmeat is your problem?” Bull, laughed. “He’s my informant out of Orlais. We were planning on rendez-vousing here even before I heard about your troubles.” 

“But he’s a necromancer!” someone protested. At this point Dorian couldn’t be bothered who said it because his attention was too affixed upon the mercenaries, for mercenaries they had to be. 

He also was not bristling at being called ‘sweetmeat.’ An altus would never stoop to care what others would think of them. Even if it gave them a squirmy little thrill of delight. 

“Eh,” Bull waved his hand dismissively as he strode forward towards Dorian. “Trust me it’s more for show than anything. Keeps bandits off his back. He’s really more of lightning proficient. All sparks all the time.” He waggled his eyebrows, a patently ridiculous move when one had an eyepatch, “If you know what I mean.” 

That got enough of a laugh that the mob relaxed into simply a crowd again and settled back around the bar. Life at the cost of his dignity, Dorian rolled his eyes, how grand. The implication had his heartbeat stuttering until he remembered he wasn’t in Tevinter. He was in Ferelden where no one thought much of same-sex or interracial couplings. It certainly didn’t hurt that the Qunari was striking, handsome if one liked rugged mercenaries that looked like they could lift a wagon unassisted. How was he even more handsome than Dorian remembered? 

“You can give me your report after we have a couple of drinks to relax,” Bull clapped Dorian on the shoulder. “Drinks on me, of course.” 

The soporati accompanying Bull narrowed his eyes at Dorian, could probably tell Dorian was a runaway spoiled altus child and didn’t think his skin worth saving. So of course he sat on Dorian’s other side. 

“You didn’t get to meet them before in Orlais, but this here’s Krem,” Bull gestured to the soporati. “And that’s Dalish and Rocky. Stitches, Skinner, and Grim should get here by tomorrow morning.” 

“Charmed,” Dorian shifted in his seat. The mercenaries all had a body language that shouted he would greatly regret it if he proved unworthy of Bull’s kindness. Giving his true name seemed a foolishness he could not afford. For all he knew his own father could have hired them to drag him back to Tevinter though it was doubtful as Bull could have easily apprehended him yesterday. Even using a variant of his mother’s family names seemed unwise. “You may call me Drake.” 

Bull snorted at that and nearly choked on his beer. 

“Not Draconius Draconum?” sniffed Krem. 

“I did not get the impression any of you are going by your birth names,” Dorian’s gut clenched, but he kept his tone light. “But perhaps you simply had vastly unimaginative mothers.” 

Everyone but Krem laughed at that, it even earned Dorian a shoulder nudge from Bull. It warmed him more than the liquor could. 

By mid-afternoon Dorian was drowsy from a belly full of stew and several drinks that really oughtn’t have gone to his head - what kind of decadent hedonist was he? - which had him leaning more on Bull than was appropriate. Considering they had already seen each other naked Dorian decided leaning was tame.

“Why don’t you all ask the villagers where they want us stationed for the battle tonight?” Bull said to Krem. “I need to debrief Drake before he falls asleep.” 

Krem started to protest, but something in Bull’s face kept him from continuing. What that was Dorian couldn’t see, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. The Qunari half carried him up the stairs to the rented rooms above the tavern.

I’m drunk, Dorian realized. I’m drunk in a town that wanted to lynch me not three hours ago and being alone with this Qunari is the safest I’ve felt since I parted with Felix. 

He went limp the moment Bull lowered him to the bed and wanted to laugh and sob at the absurdity. But instead of joining him Bull just took off Dorian’s boots and lay down on the other bed. 

“Don’t you want to debrief your informant?” Dorian turned on his side to face Bull. He tried to make the words syrupy and seductive, but Dorian had a notion they came out nervous and pathetic. 

“I’m all ears to whatever you want to tell me,” Bull shrugged. “I figure whatever you’re running from has to be pretty bad for you to give up the altus life and go running into the wilds of Ferelden.”

Dorian did not know if he was relieved or upset that Bull could read his situation so well. “Yes, well I did not choose Ferelden for its cuisine or culture. For one thing none of them can dress if their lives depended on it!” 

Bull’s mouth twitched into smothered laugh and Dorian liked that, liked it more than he should. 

“How do you know I didn’t do something bad? Something despicable? For all you know you could have been defending a cannibalistic necromancer and puppy murderer to that mob.” Dorian had to poke because he never had learned to leave things well enough alone. 

Bull simply shrugged again, “You don’t seem the type. Besides we’re mercenaries. Murder isn’t going to disqualify you from joining up with us.” 

Dorian sat up abruptly enough to make his vision swim, “You still want me to join?”

“I told you it’s a standing offer. You seem like you could use the protection,” Bull turned to meet Dorian’s gaze. “Especially since you don’t seem to keep those dragonlings as familiars.” 

“I cannot actually make them do anything,” Dorian said. “They’re attracted to my magic and the hatchlings find it comforting to be around if their mother is absent. They’re not biddable like Fereldan hounds.” 

“Guess that makes them like some Imperium mages,” Bull joked. 

“Exactly,” Dorian leaned in and kissed Bull quickly, praying he had read all the signs right. “We only do what we want.” 

Bull kissed back and made a pleased sound that made Dorian’s blood run even hotter. “You know you don’t need to do this. You can join without getting in the boss’ pants.”

Dorian pulled a face, “Those pants are so hideous they need to be removed and then preferably burned. And if I happen to find some mutual pleasure with ‘the boss’ in the process of removing them then so be it.” 

“Welcome to the Chargers, Drake.” Bull’s grin was wide and infectious.

“You can call me Dorian,” he grinned back and pulled Bull on top of him. “You’re very straightforward aren’t you? You and your Chargers?”

“What was it you said before, ‘vastly unimaginative?’” Bull grinned. “That’s us. But we make up for it with sheer charisma.”

Dorian laughed and shook his head, “You’ll have to prove it to me, Ser Bull. Or is it Captain Iron Bull-oh!” 

It was certainly a point in Bull’s favor that he could render Dorian speechless so quickly. Perhaps coming to Ferelden wasn’t a mistake after all.


End file.
